A delicate weight hits my nose
Dissipates. A heavier weight remains I push it up, pressure on my nose bridge, my finger, behind my ears. A tightness at the nape of my neck where strands gather. Weighted by the falling water, cold as it leaves, cold as it comes. A feeling of temperature touches my arms raises my hair. As it works its way through the fibers of my socks pushes fabric against my skin. As it makes the coldness of falling water increase, As it dies, and the comfortable temperature returns. My feet receive pressure from the ground and put pressure on the soft cushion of my shoes. As they pause in their rhythm, a reaction to the rushing sound, the feeling of cold droplets coming at me from the side rather than from above. The rushing stops momentarily, only to begin again. And a softer rushing, all the time continues in the background, the sound of the droplets of freshly formed water as they splash trees, grass, dust, rock and lift the smell of rain into the air. Fresh. And the smell of green, and pine, the smell of wet wood. Earthy and sweet. And the smell of human things-- Cars and factory fresh the smell of cotton cloth when it is soaked through and paper and graphite and ink all settling. And the taste of cold as it touches my tongue, my throat clean wet and woody As I breathe in. By: Anna Read -- Staff Writer |
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June 2019
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